


Road to Rosedale, 2001

by FeyduBois



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Protective Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Teens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeyduBois/pseuds/FeyduBois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of Sam's trials Dean remembers a time over a decade ago when they were on the road and Dean stood up to John so he could take care of Sam, because that's just what Dean does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road to Rosedale, 2001

**Author's Note:**

> This was done for a comment-fic meme over on LJ ( http://lauehime.livejournal.com/10228.html ) for this prompt: Pre-series. Sam is sick with a bad cold/cough, and they've been driving all day because there's a hunt in another town and John wants to get there by that night. So John's in his truck and Dean and teen Sam (like 15-17 years old) are following behind in the Impala. Sam is sick and miserable all day, but as they day goes on, he gets worse, and eventually spikes a really high fever. So Sam is all loopy and super feverish, and Dean is torn between doing what John wants to do, and giving John a call and just demanding that they stop somewhere and take care of Sam.  
> It's gen and there's nothing graphic here, but there is some language.  
> Special thanks to Senberet for the beta!

Road to Rosedale, 2001

Sam poked at the stew while Dean continued to glare at him, his eyes screaming “eat”.  
“Why do you call it John Winchester's kitchen-sink stew anyway?”  
“Because it's what dad used to make when we were sick.”  
“I don't remember dad ever bringing it to me... didn't think he could cook, you always did that. What's in it?”  
“Just leftovers... chicken from the other night, carrots, onions, garlic, rice, I don't know, everything edible what was in the fridge... everything but the sink, and some seasoning.”  
A thought occurred to Sam: “Is that because that's all there was then?”  
“Huh?”  
“I mean, when we were kids, is this what you made for me because dad wasn't around to get us anything else? Maybe when we were real little he would... but I don't remember.”  
“That's not... he taught me...”  
“It's true, isn't it?” Sam continued determinedly, “Dad would leave whenever I got sick and you'd take care of me.”  
Dean was silent for a moment, not sure what to say, and then, “Dad didn't know how to deal with sick kids, 'specially stubborn brats like you. I did. You force them to eat. Now eat, or else.”   
Sam grinned behind the spoon; he would try to choke down a mouthful or two, for Dean, even though everything tasted awful and he couldn't promise it wouldn't show back up again later.  
Of course Dean had taken care of him then, Dean was all he ever had, and this sort of thing certainly wasn't their dad's cup of tea. John Winchester didn't like to be reminded his boys were weakly mortals, that just made him worry more when he sent them out hunting. They were little soldiers, they didn't whine, and they certainly did not get brought down by mere illness.

\- - -

“You gonna live?” Dean asked as Sam finished another intense coughing fit.   
Sam waved off his big brother, eventually croaking out a broken, “Yeah, m'fine.”  
“Sure you are,” Dean said, looking towards where John was packing up his duffel bag, hoping he would turn around and notice Sam. Their entire lives fit into those bags – those bags, the truck, and Impala. On Dean's 17th birthday, shortly after he'd gotten his full driver's license, John had handed Dean the keys to the Impala and it had been his to drive ever since.  
John didn't look at Sam right away, but when he did he eyed him up critically. Clearly Sam had a bad cold. He had been fighting it for several days already, but he was trying to be strong, just as Dean had been last week when he'd dealt with the same virus. Sam seemed to have been hit harder though; Sam always got hit harder, even now when he was no longer a little kid, and if it had been up to Dean they would have remained at that hotel for the night to give Sam a chance to rest.   
Unfortunately for Sam it wasn't up to Dean, and John had told them that they were moving on that day. The moon was full and there were rumours of a werewolf – or rather reports of a wild dog that just happened to attack at the full moon – in a town twelve hours away from their current location. At 10 A.M. now John wanted to be there by nightfall to hunt the thing, lest they miss this lunar opportunity to catch the beast in action. Like the obedient little soldiers they were, Sam and Dean climbed into the Impala and set off after John's truck towards Rosedale, Pennsylvania.

It was early summer and the car was warming as the day progressed, but Sam didn't roll down his window, instead he rested his face against it and dozed. Dean kept the music low, listening to the disconcerting rattle of Sam's breath in his chest. At least the kid wouldn't be missing school now that the school year was over. There was nothing Sam hated more than having to move on to a different town and a new school, having to be the new kid again and playing catch up with the curriculum. Next year was his senior year and John had (reluctantly) agreed that, for the sake of Sam's grades, he could attend Sioux Falls high and stay with Bobby if a hunt took them way out of town.  
They stopped for lunch a little after 1 P.M., pulling into a greasy spoon diner that was a carbon copy of every other greasy spoon diner they'd ever been to – with tiny modifications. This one had a coral pink and pale yellow colour scheme, bright and cheerful, distracting the eye from the state of serious disrepair of the floor and likely the tables, although those were covered in checkered tablecloths so there was no telling. A vase of fake orchid bloomed in a matching yellow with a thin coating of dust sat unassuming in the middle of the table. Their server was a young woman with too much make-up, too young for John, although she did seem rather interested in Dean.  
“Hey there, I'm Leeanna, What can I get for you boys?” She chewed the end of her pencil suggestively, gazing at Dean from under mascara-caked lashes. She might have been at least a little pretty if not for the make-up, but Dean was distracted by Sam who looked listlessly at the menu and coughed that wracking cough every once in a while. He looked worse now that he was awake and Dean was reluctant to have woken him up, but they needed sustenance, especially Sam who was all gawky limbs in the midst of another growth spurt.  
“I'll have coffee and the burger special,” said Dean.  
“Make that two,” added John.  
There was silence while she looked expectantly at Sam.  
“Sam?” Dean kicked him lightly under the table.  
“Oh – ah,” he coughed, “just some water...”  
“Anything to eat?”  
Sam started to shake his head but Dean intervened. “You need food.”  
Leeanna was too young to have that motherly instinct you sometimes encountered in places like this, but Dean was on the ball. “Do you have soup, Leeanna?”  
“Best New England clam chowder around.”  
“He'll have a bowl of that.” Dean was reluctant to feed Sam dairy given how congested the cough sounded, but not much else could tempt Sam's appetite and his throat was probably shredded.  
“Sounds good,” she said as she wrote it down. “I'll be right back.”  
Once she had left, John glanced around to make sure there were no eyes upon them before he slid a small box of bullets across the table. “I want you boys to load your guns with these.”  
Dean glanced inside. “Silver?”  
“Yep.”  
“Sounds good.” Dean pocketed them. “Are we going out tonight still?”  
“As soon as we get there. We'll book a room and unload some gear, but then I want to go check out the field where the maulings have been happening, maybe camp out the night there.”  
Just then Sam began to cough again, loud and hacking, and a woman at the table across from them gave him a disgusted look as if he were carrying some sort of virulent plague, which to be honest was a lot like how he sounded. Dean looked at John pointedly, as if to ask if he was sure that he wanted to bring along Sam, but John ignored him and instead said to Dean, “And make sure your brother takes some damned cough syrup before we get there so he doesn't give away our position.”  
“Yes sir.” Dean would rather leave Sam behind in the hotel room when they got there. Their drinks arrived and Sam drank back the fluoride-flavoured water from the chipped glass like he just got back from the Sahara, and then had another glass.  
“Easy there sport,” said John as Leeanne refilled it, “we ain't gonna' be stopping for piss breaks all afternoon.”  
Sam slowed down on the water after that, picking at his chowder instead.  
They payed up their bill and were back on the road by 2 P.M. Before they left, Dean dug out some cough syrup and got Sam to take a big swig of it since, according to Dean, measuring spoons were for pussies. Unfortunately, it was only plain generic cough syrup left over from his own run-in with this virus, nothing that could muddle his thinking, and he didn't have any Tylenol or anything to dose Sam with for the fever he suspected was developing. John was impatient to get back on the road again, so he didn't have time to dig out anything else.  
It was 3 P.M. and Sam was hunched shivering in his jacket, cranking the heat up to full in the already hot Impala.  
By 4 P.M., he had the windows wide open and was in his t-shirt, running a hand through his sweaty hair, meanwhile Dean's frown deepened.  
At 5 P.M. Sam started rambling. Just inane stuff at first, about how dad was letting him stay in Sioux Falls next school year, and how he promised he would still help out with hunts, just more on the research side. Besides, research really was his thing already, and he was excited to learn more about monsters from Bobby. He was starting to cough again, violent coughs that shook his whole body, the medicine having mostly worn off by now.  
“Bobby said he'd teach me a whole lot about all the monsters he knows, and that I could help him when other hunters call him for information. It'll be so cool, like a hub for hunters...” another cough, “Bobby's sure got lots of books.”  
“Yep, it's a full-out library of weird and freaky. You can geek out all day with him.” Dean remained mostly quiet aside from small noises of agreement or prompts to continue speaking. He spoke and he listened but he didn't fully participate in the conversation, instead he let Sam ramble on. Eventually he couldn't stand it and he reached over to feel Sam's forehead, not in the least surprised by the intense heat pouring off of it.  
"Hey, Dean," Sam said.  
"Yeah, buddy?"  
"You have a fever," Sam giggled deliriously.  
“I have a fever?” he asked incredulously. “I don't think so. You, though, you've got a pretty good one on the go.”  
“I do?” Sam put a hand on his own forehead, but wasn't able to make heads or tails of it.  
“Yep. You could fry an egg on that.”  
“Oh.”  
There was a pause, and then, “Dean?”  
“Yeah?”  
“I feel weird.”  
“I'll bet,” Dean laughed humourlessly. “It's okay though, we should be in Rosedale by nightfall. You can rest then. I won't let dad take you out like this.”  
“Okay.”  
Dean wasn't happy about being on the road, but since Sam was just hanging out in the passenger seat it wasn't much better than a scummy motel room anyway. They would have been fine like that until they arrived and Dean got him tucked in before they left to track the lycan, but Sam apparently had other ideas.  
At around 6 P.M., Sam had gone quiet and was gazing blankly at the dashboard. He began to shiver, wrapping himself in his jacket and bringing his mile-long legs into his chest. He had kicked off his shoes long ago and Dean noticed the holes in the toes of his socks and how short his pants were getting on his legs – he could probably fit into Dean's by now – a couple more inches and he'd have Dean beat in height. Right now, however, it was as if his freakishly oversized little brother were trying to make himself as small and insignificant as possible.  
Eventually Sam spoke, his vision fixed on the road ahead, “You should drive faster.”  
“Uh, why?”  
“It's going to catch up to us.”  
“What's gonna' catch up?” Dean asked, forcing himself to remain focused on driving despite his overwhelming worry.  
“The basilisk.”  
“There isn't a basilisk after us.”  
“But there is!” Sam insisted.  
“There really isn't, don't worry... hey, you alright?”  
Sam said nothing.  
“Sam?”  
Still nothing. Dean reached over to tentatively touch his forehead again.  
“Shit.”  
The cell phone was for emergencies, and he didn't like using it while driving, but with his dad right in front of him Dean honked the horn twice, flashed his high beams (not that it would do much in daylight) and pulled in at the next gas station. This was their signal for a need to stop.  
John, fortunately, noticed and turned around a little up the road to park his truck in front of the Impala. Dean got out of the car to greet him.  
“Your brother need a piss break?” John huffed.  
“He's burning up,” said Dean, “I want to stop at the next motel.”  
“No can do,” John huffed again, “I need you for the hunt, bad enough one of you is out of commission.”  
“But dad, he's delirious!”  
John glanced at the passenger seat of the Impala where Sam sat, looking at him blankly.  
“We keep going. He probably just needs some meds so dose him up and put him in the backseat. I don't want him on the hunt if he's that sick, we'll hole him up when we get to Rosedale.” That was what Dean had intended to do already, but not what he wanted now, now Dean wanted to abbandon the hunt immediately and find the closest place possible to stop. Only, John Winchester's word was final, and while he was smart enough not to force Sam to come along if he would be a hindrance, he was utterly determined to not let anything come between him and his prey.  
Dean got out the Tylenol, gave Sam a couple, and then they got back on the road.

Night fell quickly, and the outside temperature with it. Sam rolled up his window in the backseat and looked out of it, curled into a tight ball, shaking with coughs every once in a while under the sleeping bag Dean had fished out of the trunk. He was trying to sleep but couldn't get comfortable.  
“Dean?” he said.  
“Yeah?”  
“Where are we?”  
“Pennsylvania.”  
“Oh.”  
“You doing okay?”  
“I... it's hard... thinking, I mean, my head hurts. We're on a hunt?”  
“Yep, looks like a werewolf or somesuch. You're sick, we're going to settle you down all comfy in a motel in Rosedale and go out after.”  
“Oh. Okay.”  
There were a few more moments of heavy silence and then, “Dean, slow down! You're going to hit it!”  
“Hit what?” Dean slowed the car, though he saw nothing ahead.  
“The bear!”  
Dean didn't see a bear, or any animal for that matter. There was nothing on the road for miles to either side, not even woods where a bear could be hiding. “Uh, Sammy?”  
“The bear!” Sam leaned over the seat, grabbed the steering wheel and pulled the Impala sideways. Dean barely managed to wrestle it away from his brother's powerful grasp and get them safely back between the lines. He quickly flashed his headlights and honked, signalling their dad, and brought the Impala to a halt on the side of the road.  
Once in park he turned to Sam in the backseat, “What the fuck was that?”  
“There was a bear,” Sam said quietly.  
“Uh-huh...” said Dean, reaching out to feel Sam's forehead. He was on fire.  
Sam began nervously pushed the sleeves of his hoodie up to over his elbows, and then pulled them down over his fingers, clearly agitated.  
“Stay.” Dean said firmly, getting out of the car to face John's wrath. They were on an empty stretch of dark highway, the dry grass in the ditch rustling forlornly.  
“What are you stopping for? Is there something wrong with the car? I heard tires squeal.”  
“Sam is delirious, he thought he saw something on the road and grabbed the freakin' wheel from me.”  
John sighed, “I'm disappointed in you, Dean. You can't handle your sick little kid-brother?”  
“In case you haven't noticed, he's no longer little. He was all Hulked out on adrenaline or something.”  
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?”  
“Let us two stop at the first motel we find, you keep looking for Fido, and we'll catch up as soon as he's not seeing crap.”  
“I need you for this hunt.” Maybe, but Sammy needed him more right now.  
“You did fine before I was old enough to tag along.”  
“It's only a cold. In a couple of hours we'll put him in bed and Sam will wake up fine, you know what he's like.”  
Only, Dean thought that he should have been in bed hours ago, not in a couple of hours. He shook his head angrily, aware that he was standing up to John; it was a strange sensation, but it was for Sam and so he had no choice. “No. He can't sleep and even though I gave him Tylenol he's still a fucking stove-top. I want to dunk him in a cold tub.” Dean's voice was determined. He was nothing if not stubborn, Winchester through-and-through.   
John sighed and looked at Sam in the backseat. Truly the boy did look bad, but not bad enough that he couldn't sleep it off in the backseat of a car for a couple more hours. They were used to doing that often enough.  
“Tell you what Dean, let's make a deal,” John said, going into his truck to reach behind the seat for the old army-issue first-aid kit he always carried there. “We'll take his temp, if it's too high you two can stop for the night.”  
“Deal.” Hell, once it got much over 102 Fahrenheit Dean usually dumped Sam in a tub, the kid tended to run hot to begin with and when he was sick it was a battle to keep him acceptably cool. He seemed to enjoy freaking Dean out with high numbers and fevered nightmares (always nightmares) at three in the morning and then rebounding to pretty much fine the next day.  
“Hey there Sammy,” John said, opening up the backdoor of the Impala.  
It took a moment for that to register with the boy, “Dad?”  
“Dean tells me you've got a fever, I want to see how bad it is.”  
“Okay,” Sam said obediently, accepting the old mercury thermometer John popped into his mouth. Dean stood nearby, his arms crossed defiantly across his chest; clearly he didn't think this was necessary, his Sam needed caring for, what could be simpler?   
A moment later John took the thermometer out and whistled, “Okay sport, he's all yours.”  
“How bad is it?” Dean demanded, grabbing the thermometer to look at it. “104! Dad, brain damage can happen, he's frying!”  
“It's a smidge under,” John shrugged, “You know Sammy, he does this sometimes, but then he's bouncing around just fine in the morning.”  
Dean was still too in-shock to say anything.  
“He's all yours, so you go ahead and prevent that, we need his freakishly large brain,” John clapped Dean on the back. “I've got a big bad wolf to stop. You got a credit card for the motel?”  
“Yes, but what if he needs a hospital?”  
“You've got the fake insurance cards, but you know that's a last resort.”  
“Of course.”  
“I'll call you when I get in tonight, if I don't call you come on out and save my ass, if it isn't ground-beef by then.”  
“Yes sir,” Dean said.  
“Atta' boy. And Dean,” John called, already getting into his truck, eager to be back on the case, “Take care of Sammy. He's your responsibility now.”  
Now as he had been when at six months Sam had been handed off to Dean, Dean who could hardly hold him then, and he would remain Dean's responsibility until he was way too big to be carried and too old to still be bailed out by his big brother every single time he fucked up but Dean would do it anyway because that's what just Dean did.

\- - -

Sam was really fucked this time.   
Dean couldn't help but think of what Cas had said, about this not being something he could fix. Sam seemed to believe that as well, but Dean couldn't – wouldn't – believe there was no way out of this. Sam was his responsibility and there was no way that this trial garbage was going to come between that.  
He gathered up the dishes and medical paraphernalia from the table next to Sam onto a tray and began to make his way back to the bunker's industrial-style kitchen, taking a moment to pause in the doorway and watch the slow rise-and-fall of his brother's chest in uneasy sleep.  
Nothing was going to come between him and taking care of his Sam, not even Sam's mile-long stubborn streak. Whether it was ordinary illness, a missing soul, Lucifer living in his head, or whatever this trial thing was, Dean would fix it. He would do what he always had, since the precious burden had been pressed into his arms while he ran from his childhood home as it was engulfed in flames. 

\- - -

The ride to the motel at Rose lake resort was tense. Dean could barely recall it later on. Once he got there he checked in as quickly as possible, leaving Sam in the car, and then got back in and drove them to the other side of the building where the last available room was; there was some event going on at the lake, a water-ski competition or something, and the motel was pretty busy. Dean didn't even care that they only had one bed available, he and Sam were used to sharing anyway when there wasn't a cot or couch to be had (in which case it was rock-paper-scissors for the bed).  
Dean opened the Impala's back door and Sam practically fell out, stumbling as he made his way to room 113, leaning heavily on Dean. Once inside Dean dropped their duffel bags and first-aid kit on the bed, locked the door, and immediately led Sam into the washroom, and stopped... was there seriously no bathtub? Of all the shitty-ass places to be stuck! Well, he would have to work with it.  
“Looks like it's a cool shower for you buddy,” he cranked on the shower to where he thought it should be, letting it run for a bit so that they wouldn't be surprised, though one never knew with motel showers, they could be more fickle than witches.  
“I don't want a cold shower,” Sam said, shivering.  
“Yeah, well, you need one so go cry me a river,” Dean said, concealing his concern with bristle while he started to strip off his clothes. He tossed them into the main room piece-by-piece until he was down to his boxers, and then he started manhandling Sam out of his. It was a long process with an addled little-big brother, but at least he was fairly compliant in this state.  
Once Sam was down to his boxers Dean placed him in the water and held him there himself, shivering under the cool spray until Sam began to feel a little less like a furnace and was becoming too sleepy to keep his eyes open. From there Dean dried him off and hauled him into the main room like a rag doll. He gave him clean boxers and a t-shirt to put on, turning around to change himself, and then began to rummage around in the first aid kit, pulling out the things he needed.  
“Bed,” Dean pointed and Sam crawled under the covers slowly. Dean measured his temperature, a just acceptable 102, measured out doses of cough syrup and Tylenol, and then tucked in the brat with a wet washcloth on his forehead. Sleepily Sam looked out from under it with one eye and said, “Dean?”  
“Yeah buddy?”  
“You'll make a good mom someday.”  
Dean didn't know if he wanted to smack the kid or hug him so instead he just nodded and said, “Yeah sure, whatever you say, goodnight Sammy,” and climbed in beside him.

\- - -

“Hey Sam, y'awake?” Dean lightly shook his sleeping brother's shoulder. Dean had started letting himself into Sam's room freely to take care of him, not that Sam had even seemed to move in, not like Dean had.  
Sam looked a bit better this morning, yeah he still had dark purple bruises under his eyes and his complexion was pale, but he didn't seem to be in pain or running a significant fever.  
“Dee?” he slurred, sitting up and starting to cough.  
Dean patiently waited for the fit to end, relieved when no blood was brought up, “I brought you some of that ginger tea you like so much, princess.”  
“Oh, great!” Sam grabbed the mug and cupped it in his hands, absorbing the warmth and breathing in the steam. Most over-the-counter medications had little effect on trial sickness, however some of the herbal remedies he found were fairly effective, “Anything on Kevin?”  
“Nothing yet.”  
Sam sighed in disappointment and Dean watched him; he wasn't through the woods by a long shot, but he was looking slightly better today. Maybe Dean needed to give him more credit. Charlie's reassurance that so long as they worked together they could accomplish anything ran through his mind.  
“I'm going to check the archives again for trial-related references,” Sam said, setting down his tea and starting to get out of bed.  
“You gotta' eat breakfast first.”  
Sam rolled his eyes, “If you insist.”  
“Hey, you love my cooking and you know it.”  
“Yeah,” Sam grinned, “sure mom.”


End file.
